


the colour white is cold (but sometimes, it can burn)

by mermistia



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s03 Chat Blanc, F/M, Guilt, anyone else fucking dead after chat blanc?, kinda? just what he was doing before LB turned up, that’s pretty much it ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermistia/pseuds/mermistia
Summary: Chat Blanc is alone.He should be used to it by now, but somehow it still hurts.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 11
Kudos: 255





	the colour white is cold (but sometimes, it can burn)

**Author's Note:**

> im in pain

Adrien doesn’t remember much. 

He should, really. He knows that. After everything that he’s done, everything that he’s been through, everything that he’s caused, he should remember so much more. The gaps in his memory shouldn’t exist, should be filled by terror and screaming and blinding lights that make his head swim with pain. 

He should remember e̶͉͍̣͆̽̄̀̌́́̌̿͝v̴͙̖̙̣̍͌̉̐̆͜e̵̝͎̞̺̤͎͋̏̇͘r̴̟̠̠͓̖͖̼̖̀̀̈́ͅͅy̶̲̪͇̝̳͒͜ͅt̴͋͜͠͝ḩ̷͈̜͎̩͚̮̮̳͋̀ͅi̴͚̘̜̻͉̼͛͌͂̈̈́̔̓̎͘͝ǹ̷̪͔̹͖̇͒̒͆͝g̵̰͓͍͚̱̱͎̹̿͜͜.

He wishes that he could. 

There’s just nothing. No pain. No noise. 

All

That

He 

Remembers

Is 

N̴͉̪̞̤̜̟̈́̈́̀

Ǫ̶͖͖͔̘̱̦͓̼̪̌̈́͋͂͑

Ț̵̡̝͔̳̀̏͆͊̕̕

H̵̯̰̾̑͐͐̔͜

Ȋ̶͙̗͙̹͕̪̔̋͐̄

N̴̯͔̼̘͓̻̻̜͙͎̎̐̓̑̏̄

G̵̛͕̓̎̊̀̒

There’s still fragments, though. Just little patches of things in his mind, short bursts of pain that make him want to screw his eyes shut and force a cataclysm right through his heart. 

Still, none of it makes any _sense._ Maybe there really is something, but it’s as good as nothing. He can’t piece together any of the pieces, nothing seems to fit. 

It’s quiet, where he is, at least. His legs dangling over the side of the building, the wind blowing through his hair and making his skin crawl with an icy feeling. It’s calm, in a way that his house never was. His house is too confining. So big, so grand, so perfect and incredible and empty and awful and full of things that make him want to cry every time that he sets eyes on them. 

He wants to say something. He isn’t really sure what, and he doesn’t know who he wants to speak to either. There’s no one there. His father is dead. His friends are dead. The love of his life is dead dead dead, and it’s 

à̶̖̰͓̈́͐̈̉̊̐̆̿l̷͎͉̼̩̯̤̰͇̓̒͛̒̚͠l̶̹̦͆͊̆͝

h̴̜̫͔̹̘̏į̵͔͎̭̮̮̍͜͜s̴͎̖̱̩̰̞̜͍̩̀̏͝

f̸̙̲̳̦̣̐a̷̗͋̋͛͜ụ̶͚̎̀́͗̆̔͐̌͗̚l̴̨̝̯͇̪̦̤̄̀t̵͚͈͊

He doesn’t want to think about that. 

So he doesn’t, he thinks of everything else. Everything else. Anything else. 

Just. 

Think. 

Of. 

A 

N

Y

T

H

I

N

G

E

L

S

E

It doesn’t work. 

He thinks of Nino. Ď̵͇̻̜̦̳͓͗̊̂̈ȩ̷͇̪̅̉̔̑͛a̴̬̠͐̈́͊̈́̀͜d̴͈̟̤͚̥̼̂̿̋̏͐ͅ.̶̢̻̱̦̼͇̘͖͕̱̽̐̌̅̓͑́͌̑͠

He thinks of Alya. Ď̵͇̻̜̦̳͓͗̊̂̈ȩ̷͇̪̅̉̔̑͛a̴̬̠͐̈́͊̈́̀͜d̴͈̟̤͚̥̼̂̿̋̏͐ͅ.̶̢̻̱̦̼͇̘͖͕̱̽̐̌̅̓͑́͌̑͠

He thinks of Chloé. Ď̵͇̻̜̦̳͓͗̊̂̈ȩ̷͇̪̅̉̔̑͛a̴̬̠͐̈́͊̈́̀͜d̴͈̟̤͚̥̼̂̿̋̏͐ͅ.̶̢̻̱̦̼͇̘͖͕̱̽̐̌̅̓͑́͌̑͠

“Marinette.” The word slips through his lips before he can stop it. It takes him by surprise, more than a little, and he shakes his head to try and clear the name from his mind.

It isn’t _working,_ it won’t go away, the memory of her eyes staring into his, her hair framing her face in a way that makes him want to cup her cheeks and kiss her forever, her hands holding him tight like she never wants to let go. 

She’s gone. 

She’s gone forever.

He says her name again, testing it out between his lips. “Marinette. Ḑ̴͓̰̍̄̋͝è̵̡̩̱̠̺͈͉͇̞͜a̸͇̥̦̓̈̀̕ḑ̶̣̺́̕.̵̰̻̥̠͓̩̋̇̌̔͋͜͝͝͝ͅ”

He almost can’t bring himself to say it. 

“M̵̘̞̱̓̑͘a̸̝̥̰͉̗̻̮̱͗̂̆̓͂̐͝r̸̡̠͎̗̳̿́͊î̸̛̘͉n̷̜͛̾̋̄̒̌ẽ̶͍̘̟̄̊͑͊̿́t̷͔͑͑̓͛̈́̈́͌̌͋t̶̡̨̞͖̲͍̤̹͉͎͗̈́̅ě̷̺̞̥̞̞̱̬̩͜ ̶̨̢̯̖͖̩̟̦̮͙̌͑̓i̸̥͎̗̩̫̱͍͙̣̥̅̎̉͝ş̷̛̼̀̆́͂̿̌̕͝ ̷̮̠̹̇̽́̒̽̒͜͜d̶̡̻̟͍͇̬̞͍͕́̔̈́͋̎͛̍̚ͅe̴̡̫̞̹̠̽͂̈́́̂̓ͅͅa̶̦̪͕͍̜̫̜̓̋̇̈́̾͗͑͠͝d̴͚̮̮̪̤͇͚̋̅̾͆͝.̸̢̟̤̀͝ ̶̠̜͗̅͐Ą̷̡̜̱̩͓͎̦̗͌̏̐̊̊̚n̵̡̖̼̹͚̮̈́̐̒͒̏͆̎͒̚͝d̶̮̤̯̂̉̈́́ ̴̢̬͓͎͖̙̲̤̀į̷͙͎̩̼̲͝t̷̡̙̹̣͖̞̔̊̏̅͛̇̈́ ̶̧̞̲̗̘͓̜͖̅͒̋͆̿̇̇̀̚ͅi̸̗̺̯̫̤̖̺͌̅̾̈̃̔͜s̵̨̨̬͓͍̞͉̦̗̠͐́̈́̕ ̴̨̰̫̤̮̙̦̰̘͎̈́́̑͊̀͘͝m̶̨̼̍̒̈́̀y̸̹̜̓͌̔̉̽͗͊ ̵̡͖͔̱̮̠̯̹͉͙́̈́͐͛̑̔͝f̷̼̹̰͙̙̘̯̖̠̓̉̉̆̾̀͆a̷̢̛̹̥̩̗̮͚̰̹͒̈̐͌̈͋̌u̴͖̖͋̐̈́͊̂l̵̡͎̪̦̯̻̽̇́͜͝ͅţ̴̖̟̝̼̻̭̟͙̈́͘͠ͅ.̸̡̨̢̨̬͉̪̖̬̪̈”

M̸̩̯̼̬̲̝̖̎̃͆͌̓̇͂́͘͘y̴̪̹̰̝̖̙͍̞̫̯͝ ̵̦̻̙̟͒̃̆́̉f̷̞̲́̏̏̌̾̈́̽̔̑̚a̷̮͐̅̈͐́̈̆ü̵̱̅̎͐̚ĺ̴̢̢̛͕̭͎̠̳́͝ṱ̶̛̛̹̟̦̥̋͑̇̀͋͗́͋.̸̜̱͉̞̓͆͠

M̸̩̯̼̬̲̝̖̎̃͆͌̓̇͂́͘͘y̴̪̹̰̝̖̙͍̞̫̯͝ ̵̦̻̙̟͒̃̆́̉f̷̞̲́̏̏̌̾̈́̽̔̑̚a̷̮͐̅̈͐́̈̆ü̵̱̅̎͐̚ĺ̴̢̢̛͕̭͎̠̳́͝ṱ̶̛̛̹̟̦̥̋͑̇̀͋͗́͋.̸̜̱͉̞̓͆͠

M̸̩̯̼̬̲̝̖̎̃͆͌̓̇͂́͘͘y̴̪̹̰̝̖̙͍̞̫̯͝ ̵̦̻̙̟͒̃̆́̉f̷̞̲́̏̏̌̾̈́̽̔̑̚a̷̮͐̅̈͐́̈̆ü̵̱̅̎͐̚ĺ̴̢̢̛͕̭͎̠̳́͝ṱ̶̛̛̹̟̦̥̋͑̇̀͋͗́͋.̸̜̱͉̞̓͆͠

He doesn’t understand why it hurts, why it twists and corrupts and burns inside of him; he thought that the akumatization would wipe away all of his feelings, leaving him as a hollow shell, an empty mind, a nothing that could be discarded with the flick of a hand, but he still _feels._ If anything he feels more deeply, anger and pain and something that feels disturbingly like guilt flickering through his nerves in a way that makes him want to throw himself off of the building without a second thought. 

He could do it. 

It would be so, so easy. 

He imagines it. The feeling of falling through the air, flying, freewheeling towards the ground with the wind rushing over his body, stinging his eyes, biting at his hands. Tears streaming, tracing their way down his face, flying out behind him as he closes his eyes and falls and falls and falls.

He can imagine the feeling. 

The feeling of his body hitting the water, slamming onto the surface, letting the cold envelop him, losing himself in the sea of blue and white. 

He can imagine the cold. 

He’s already used to it, the freezing feeling of the air biting his skin and seeping into his lungs. Everything is blue and white and ice cold, like everything is gone from the world. Everything is blank and null and void because he’s lost everything, _everything,_ and he can’t get it back. All because he fell in love, and it’s so cold, so empty, and he wraps his arms around himself tightly as he stares out over the water. 

Usually he’d have Ladybug to sit by his side. 

He misses her already. 

He punches the space next to him, the space where she should be. His hands slaps down against the roof, hard, too hard, and he feels a shooting pain in his wrist that spreads up his arm and across his ribs in a split second, wracking his body with a feeling that makes him double over in agony.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ The word races through his mind a million times per second, and he stifles a hiss of pain as he pulls his hand close to him and cradles it against his chest. There’s no blood, nothing cut, but it’s still throbbing with pain, and the cold is cutting in even deeper now, creeping into his bones and hurting him, hurting so badly. 

It’s so cold that it _burns._

The white cold, burying into his skin and making every single one of his nerves light up with white hot pain, an anger like he’s never felt, an anger like he’s never experienced before. 

He thought he was alone before, trapped in a house. 

And now he’s _really_ alone, trapped in the world. 

_Don’t jump don’t jump don’t jump._

_You can fix this you can fix this you can fix this._

N̷͕̠̔̃̒͊̐̈́̎͘o̴̢͔̲͚̯̯͎̳͂̿͆̈́̎̿͘̕͝ ̴̬̥̏͐͑͋͑͠͠I̵̧̡̳̎͑́̾͘͘̕͜ ̴̖͍̼̩̲͈̆͌̍͝ḉ̸̻̱̭͈͇̮͕̟͜a̴̢͚͕̯̟̼̫̲͙̻̾̍̇̅͆͛̚̚ñ̴̬̘͉̦̟͒̍̕ͅ’̷̨͓̭̞̻̣̖̺̹̍͗̈̒͛̚͝ͅẗ̷͈́̀̀͋͘̕ ̸̯͚̺̠̼̆̏̾̈́̎͆̕n̸̡̘̺̫̘̻̮̍̆͑̊o̶̠͈̻̊͜ ̸̢̮͈͓̜̭̝͛̂̀̔̕Ì̴̡̞̘̙̳̦̜̖̘͒̅̕͝ ̴͓̩̬̯͕̀͂̽̅̊͐c̸̡̙̺͊̎̒͝ǎ̵̟͖̻͔ṉ̵̡̡̛̮̹̟͈͉̫̖̈̎͒̐̈́̓͘’̵̡̧̖̙̮̳̭̻̗͉̐̈̿̈́̎̑̆̇͘̕t̸̰̯̼̫͕̪̾ ̸̢̲͚͔̟͔͐̍̂n̵̩̣͎̙͌̈́o̶̧̊̊͋̅̕ ̷͍̫̣͔́Į̸̤̣̖͖̣̹̰͊͜ ̴̪̣̪̠͓̮̄͂͜͜ċ̴̡̣̤̻̦͇̟̈́́̾̉̄͛̾a̷̩͂̈͐̂͌̈́̆ṋ̴͓̟͇̈̓͊’̸̧̛̬̰͖̫͙͈̩͕̑̀̑̔̏͛͜t̶̢̟̲͍̣̤͔̤́̓̈́͜.

Just breathe. 

He closes his eyes, leaning back, careful not to put too much pressure on his hand. He needs to be calm, to be calm, to let everything slip away. To let this burning pain, these twisting feelings inside him slip away. 

He sings. Just a quiet hum, soft, as he looks out over the water, and he lets his eyes flutter closed. 

He could jump. 

It would be easy, so easy. 

He’s going to do it. 

He’s going to jump and crash and die, this is how he dies. 

Alone. 

Broken. 

And in a way, he feels like he deserves it. 

One foot over the edge of the building. 

A sinking feeling in his throat. 

A song still on his lips. 

And Ladybug behind him, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Chat Noir? Chat Noir...”

Her voice. 

He doesn’t jump. 

There’s still hope. 

“My Lady?”

She saves him.

**Author's Note:**

> im STILL in pain!


End file.
